


Grilled Cheese, Please

by lellabeth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt, an ode to grilled cheese, love through cooking, not sorry, this is sort of ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint really wants that recipe, dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grilled Cheese, Please

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on a tumblr prompt. my name over there is lellabeth :)

Clint groaned around the warm food. He’d eaten a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches in his life - stale bread and expired Kraft singles, one slice of white folded in half and then cut down the middle so he and Barney could share. It was the favorite dinner of a girl at his first foster family’s home, and he’d been convinced every time someone put a plate with a whole sandwich down in front of him that they were expecting him to share.

The circus… he did his best to ignore those memories.

When he’d finally started living on his own, it was in a two-room apartment that barely had a functioning toilet, let alone a stovetop. He’d tried to make them when he finally got somewhere nicer, post-SHIELD of course, but they were always burned around the edges.

He should have known Phil would make the best grilled cheese he’d ever tasted. Thick bread, rich with butter and something savory, filled with gooey, molten cheese. And it was funny, in a way, because they were nothing like the sandwiches he’d eaten as a child, but they made him feel like he was home.

Maybe that was because it was always Phil who made them.

“You have to tell me what you do to this,” Clint said through a moan, feeling the flavors burst on his tongue.

“Sorry. Family secret.”

That was always Phil’s response, and it was stupid and juvenile for Clint to feel so frustrated by it.

“I’ll stop shooting foam arrows at Sitwell for a whole week,” Clint offered.

Phil just raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, a month.”

“Barton, that’s my only source of entertainment outside of watching Natasha terrify the junior agents. Didn’t you complete the level 5 negotiation class?”

Clint tore off another bite of his sandwich, trying to look annoyed while internally pledging his first born if he could always have this sandwich.

“I’ll show you a picture of me in the Hawkeye costume.”

Phil paused. “You told me you didn’t have any of those.”

“I have one.”

For a second, Clint thought he’d won. Then Phil pasted on his bland Agent face.

“I’ve already seen it, anyway. You suit sequins quite well.”

Clint choked on his bite.

“I’ll…” He took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what happened in Budapest.”

Phil just shrugged. “Natasha already told me after we shared three bottles of her vodka. Creative use of borscht, Barton.”

Clint held on to the last piece of his sandwich, wanting to eat it so much that he never wanted to eat it, so he could always savor it.

It made sense to him, at least.

“What can I do?”

Phil eyed him carefully, wiping his slippery fingers on a napkin. He let his legs fall open wide, slacks pulled taut across his lap.

“I’m sure you can interrogate it from me somehow.”

And that was how Clint ended up with a boneless, orgasm-flushed Phil, and a recipe that called for three cheese and two different types of spice.

Somehow, he knew that they’d always taste better if it was Phil making them for him.


End file.
